Murder at Lost Dog Lake (13 page)

“
True love.” Barb sighed deeply.

“
So what really caused the death of Tom Thomson, canoeist and
naturalist extraordinaire, on a calm and peaceful summer’s day on a
lake he knew so well? What caused the bruise on his forehead and
how did the length of fishing line come to be wrapped around his
legs? And where, in fact, lie his remains to this day? At the
well-groomed family plot, or at the primitive gravesite visited for
years upon years by a lonely, embittered woman who never married
and never left Canoe Lake?”

He was a
good storyteller. He knew when to drop his voice and when to raise
it, when to stop for effect, and when to carry on. Even Richard and
Joe, warriors of Bay Street, were captivated by the
story.

“
Wow,” Jeremy said, breaking the silence that greeted the end
of Craig’s tale. “And you mean to say they still don’t know who’s
buried where? Can’t they dig up the body and do some DNA tests or
something?”

“
I don’t think they do DNA testing or dig up old graveyards
just to satisfy some people’s curiosity. It’s too late to bring
anyone to justice, if Thomson was in fact murdered.”

“
I bet they would if anyone really wanted to.”

“
That is such a great story,” Dianne said. “You tell it so
well. What else do you know about the Park? I’ve been on lots of
these trips and I never tire of the stories. Please tell us
more.”

And
Craig talked, his deep, rich baritone rising and falling with
emotion, long into the night. Some of his tales were true, I have
no doubt, and some were a total fabrication, spun out of whole
cloth to suit the mood of the night. And does it really matter, at
the end of it all, which are true and which are not and can one
really tell the difference when all the stories finally come to an
end and it is time for bed?

Chapter 10

Day 7: Midday.

We faced
only one portage that day, but it was a long one, almost three
miles. Which was a great deal, considering that we had to walk the
route three times, once with the first load, then make our way back
to pick up a second pile, and carry all that down the trail again.
The whole trip would come to a tough nine miles.

We were
well into the routine, everyone strapped on his or her pack with a
moderate amount of efficiency, excepting Rachel who still ignored
anything heavier than her own day pack and water bottle. Craig
carried the lunch barrel but he didn’t have it on him when we
finally reached the trial’s end.

“
A little more than half way back, there’s a fabulous
waterfall and swimming hole. I suggest we stop there for lunch and
a bit of a rest before getting the canoes and the last of the
stuff.”

So down
the path we trotted. Like an overworked trail pony on the way back
to the barn, my steps were lightened considerably by the prospect
of lunch at the end.

The
promised waterfall was only about a hundred yards off the main
path, but not marked, so passers-by would be unlikely to find it
unless they knew it was there. It was a perfect little jewel: a
gentle, small river arriving at a tumble of rough white water, then
switching personalities to toss and boil like a cheerful avalanche
over the rocks and into a soft pool of deep black. Thick growths of
gnarled old pine and silver birch grew right to the water’s edge,
wrapping the open patch of water in a thick, almost impenetrable
blanket. Sunlight broke through in the few spots it could and cast
a dappled, dancing pattern of light and shadow on the playful
rushing water.

Eagerly
we stripped off shorts and T-shirts and with less enthusiasm
stepped hesitantly across the rocks. It was rough underfoot; I
approached the waterfall at a snail’s pace, watching every step.
The water was sharply cold, but so crystal-clear, that I could I
could see my feet, ghostly green, thick-toed and warped out of
shape in their practical, back-to-the-real-world sports sandals,
and check out the location of every rock before placing my foot
back down again.

Barb,
Jeremy and Craig passed me, laughing at my timidity. A beam of
sunlight escaped from the forest covering and caught Barb’s fair
hair so that it shone like a rippling field of spun gold. She
fairly danced across the surface of the water, sunlight bouncing
off the spray of the falling water that surrounded her, looking for
all the world like Tinkerbell come to life to play amongst we mere
mortals.

Richard,
Joe and Dianne walked behind me, placing every footstep with care
like me. How quickly we loose the spontaneity of youth, that
reckless, devil-may-care attitude. I briefly considered dashing
into the falls, but I remembered Barb’s friend Annie, leg broken in
the Parliament buildings, of all the mundane places, the trip of a
lifetime over in a careless second, and I continued at a suitably
sedate pace.

We
played and laughed in the rush of the waterfall. Craig showed us a
tiny tunnel behind the streaming water, where an overhanging shelf
of rock jutted out into space, creating a pocket of air small
enough for one or two people to duck under comfortably.

Below
the ledge of worn and tumbled rock, the water fell again, this time
in a gentler stream, into a pool of the softest, deepest black. It
was deep enough to dive into, as Craig demonstrated. I jumped in
once, to test the depth and felt nothing underneath my feet. So
with great bravado, I clambered back up and executed a perfect
dive. I surfaced to stunned silence followed by a spontaneous round
of applause. Diving had been my sport in High School and
University. I will admit that it did give me a rush of satisfaction
to see the surprise on the faces of my companions (particularly the
younger set).

“
Lunch in five minutes,” Craig bellowed once he had recovered
his composure. He swam in long, liquid strokes over to the water’s
edge and pulled himself up and over the top.

Barb and
Jeremy were splashing each other with much laughter and playful
expressions of giggling anger. Richard attempted a dive like mine,
which (I am rather ashamed to admit pleased me no end) culminated
in a spectacular belly flop. Dianne winced in sympathy and
pretended not to notice. But the edges of her mouth turned up in a
small secret smile.

Joe left
the water and joined Rachel on the bank. She had changed into her
red bikini but hadn’t ventured into the water. She was propped
under a tree, baseball cap pulled down over her eyes. The look of
perpetual boredom was replaced with one of heavy-eyed contentment
as she gazed out over the waterfall and the forest and open blue
sky beyond.

Lunch
consisted of tuna salad stuffed into a pita accompanied by apples
and pears. When the meal was finished, I lay back and closed my
eyes to doze gently in the dappled sunlight. At the edges of
consciousness I could hear people returning to the water and the
sounds of swimming and diving and laughing.

“
This is a great spot, eh, Dianne?” Joe’s voice, gooey with
false friendliness, broke through my haze of almost-sleep like the
buzz of a particularly rude bee. I struggled to settle back into my
contented stupor.

“
Very nice,” Dianne replied, her empty voice far
away.

“
Thanks so much for inviting me and Rachel on this trip. It’s
been exactly what I needed.”

“
Oh, really.” Dianne’s tone hardened. The weight of sarcasm in
the air was almost palpable. “I am so sure that Rachel is having a
wonderful time. Why look at her now, wondering whether or not it
will ruin her pedicure to put her big toe into the water. No, wait,
there’s the gallant young guide edging her in.”

“
I don’t think…” The whining attempt at being friends
disappeared, Joe’s voice was now as sharp as steel.

“
No, I am quite sure you don’t think.” Dianne interrupted.
“You don’t think long enough to consider whether you are welcome…
or not.”

“
I don’t think.” He repeated with emphasis. “That there is any
point in discussing our relationship, or lack there of, in front of
outsiders.”

I could
almost feel him nod in my direction.

“
Oh, she’s sound asleep. The only one of you bunch who’s worth
anything on the trail, she needs some rest.”

In a
sudden burst of panic I regulated my breathing, in out, in out.
This was the second time in a few days I’d felt myself forced to
pretend to be asleep. Why do I keep getting into these ridiculous
situations?

I wasn’t
the least bit interested in listening in to any argument between
Dianne and Joe, but the humiliation of discovery at apparently
pretending to be asleep during a private conversation would be
excruciating indeed.

In out,
in out. How does a sleeping person breathe anyway? I tried to
remember looking in on my sons, out for the count under their Star
Wars duvets, snug against the terrors of the night in their wooden
bunk beds, protected by the power of The Force.

Rustling
vegetation and muttered grunting as Joe struggled to his feet. “So
nice talking to you Dianne. Let us all know when you are ready to
move on, will you?”

“
I assume that you believe that big loan you need will be
coming through next month.” Her voice was soft and black like the
pool, but equally deadly. Unwillingly I strained my ears to catch
it all, almost forgetting to breathe. In out, in out.

“
No assumptions about it,” Joe replied, his voice dropping to
her level. Smooth, threatening. “It will be there,
guaranteed.”

“
No, Joe. Not guaranteed. Not at all. You see, I’ve pumped so
much of my own money into one fanciful scheme of Richard’s after
another that I am getting rather tired of it. I guess he forgot to
tell you that his bank is… little old me. Foolish of you not to
ask, wouldn’t you agree? Fortunately, I have money, thanks to my
family. And lots of it. Unfortunately for you, even my pockets
aren’t bottomless.”

In the
distance, resounding of echoes like in a dream, I could hear Craig
calling to Rachel to be careful, and Barb’s laugh.

“
This is a good deal, Dianne.” Joe’s voice was softer now. I
guessed that he was rapidly assessing his company’s bank account
and deciding that he’d better keep himself under control until he
found out where things stood. “It will make us all a lot of
money.”

She
sighed deeply. I saw a nature show on television once, in which a
snake crawled out from under the trunk of a rotting tree. The sound
was exactly the same. “But I already have a lot of money. Maybe I
don’t need any more.”

“
Don’t you screw this up for me, Dianne,” Joe
warned.

“
For you?” She laughed without mirth. “Why should I care about
you?”

“
For Richard then. You do care about Richard, don’t
you?”

Immediately above my head a red squirrel sounded the alarm
with a set of high-pitched squeaks. I lay still in an agony of
indecision. I really should make waking up sounds, but on the other
hand, other people’s business is quite fascinating. Isn’t that why
we have celebrities?

“
Or maybe you don’t want to see Richard’s company do well,”
Joe said. “Maybe it suits you to have him tied to your apron
strings, nice and close so you can check up on him, keep him in
line if he thinks about straying.”

I
thought Dianne would be angry but rather she laughed with something
approaching real mirth. “You really have no idea what you’re taking
about. So go away and leave me alone. I’ll decide in my own time
and for my own reasons what I’m going to do.”

I could
almost hear the rising of the bristles on Joe’s neck and the crack
of his knuckles as he clenched his fists. “Listen you. Don’t think
you can make that sort of a threat and then tell me you’re going to
‘think about it’. That’s not…”

“
Time to pack up and get going. We still have a portage to
finish.” Craig’s voice was so close I jumped in my skin.
Remembering that I was supposedly asleep, I stirred and shifted and
groaned. Quite the academy award winning performance.

Joe
stumbled off to help Rachel out of the water. “That was the coolest
thing,” she exclaimed, clambering up onto the bank. “A little
waterfall house.”

Dianne
was watching me. She had a self-satisfied smile on her face and her
strange cat’s eyes glowed yellow with mischief. I wondered if she
had really believed I was asleep.

A short,
pleasant walk took us back to the top of the portage. Amidst the
tumble of packs and lifejackets and canoes a thin, balding,
bespeckled and totally harried looking man tried to organize a
group of jostling, rowdy teenage boys. Despite much splashing and
play fighting and loud complaining, they seemed to be doing a fine
job of unloading their equipment, hauling the canoes out of the
water, and preparing to make the first leg of the portage. The man
stood in the middle of the melee waving his arms and issuing orders
and generally accomplishing nothing with much effort. As the first
of the boys passed, Craig stopped him with a wave.

“
Nice waterfall and swimming hole little over a mile up the
trail. The path breaks off to the right of a large white rock. Good
spot for a break before continuing.”